


It was, and always had been, love.

by batteryat80percent



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oneshot, Pining, Slow Burn, but could be more if I get enough support, no smut but it gets a little heated, theyre just really in love okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batteryat80percent/pseuds/batteryat80percent
Summary: When Curt Mega first met Owen Carvour, there was something about him that he couldn’t pinpoint. A sort of charm that got to Curt, in ways that charm had never quite gotten to him before. Owen Carvour was odd, Owen Carvour was clever, and Owen Carvour knew his way out of every situation. They were both some of the best spies in the world, but Curt knew, Owen was and would always be better than him in many departments. He didn’t know the great spy Owen Carvour first, though. He knew him briefly under a different name for a short time, though he was the same man. Owen could be through anything and he would still be the same man underneath everything. Pain, loss, anything. Part of him would still be Owen Carvour, the man he fell in love with.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 38
Kudos: 155





	It was, and always had been, love.

When Curt Mega first met Owen Carvour, there was something about him that he couldn’t pinpoint. A sort of charm that got to Curt, in ways that charm had never quite gotten to him before. Owen Carvour was odd, Owen Carvour was clever, and Owen Carvour knew his way out of every situation. They were both some of the best spies in the world, but Curt knew, Owen was and would always be better than him in many departments. He didn’t know the great spy Owen Carvour first, though. He knew him briefly under a different name for a short time, though he was the same man. Owen could be through anything and he would still be the same man underneath everything. Pain, loss, anything. Part of him would still be Owen Carvour, the man he fell in love with. 

That momentous evening, Curt was in Halle, Germany, on a mission for the CIA. Some group had stolen precious artifacts from the Kunstmuseum Moritzburg, a couple valuable paintings, some expensive jewelry, and Curt was assigned to retrieve it and neutralize the threat using any means necessary. He was staying in a cheap hotel, where the beds were tacky and the wine was even tackier. 

So, he went to a nearby bar. Not to drink, though he probably would end up drinking. The group of thieves who had stolen the artifacts were rumored to be stationed under the bar, and Curt intended to slip past the facade and recover the items, returning them to where they belonged and defeating the thieves in the process. 

It was a simple mission. So why was there a  smoking hot terrible excuse of a man standing in front of him, blocking his way? 

The man had bumped into him, and insisted that he buy him a drink to apologize. It would seem rude to say no, plus Curt could use a drink, so he agreed. They sat at the bar, and the man waved up the bartender. 

“One beer and,” he paused, glancing at Curt. 

“Oh! Whiskey for me,” Curt answered, resulting in a raised eyebrow from the man beside him, which he brushed off. “What? It’s that kind of night.” 

“So does such an interesting stranger like you have a name?” The man grinned, and Curt felt himself flush. Out of nervousness. Obviously. 

“Nathan.” Curt lied. A spy never gave out his real name on a whim. The man grinned again, and held out his hand for Curt to shake. 

“Sebastian.” 

“Nice to meet you Sebastian.”

“You too, Nathan.”   
  


~

They talked for a bit, and Curt nearly lost himself in conversation with Sebastian. But, he reminded himself, he had to focus on the mission. So he said his goodbyes and slid to the back of the bar, far from Sebastian’s eyesight, and began to inch closer to the door marked ‘staff only’ where the entrance Curt was looking for had to be. 

When he eventually slid into the door, he was lead into a long hall. With a hand on the pocket where his gun rested, Curt crept down the eerie hallway towards what he hoped was the place he was looking for. He came across a set of stairs, and slowly climbed down those too, peering around corners. So far, he had yet to have been confronted. 

He reached a room, small, but filled with things. Many, many things. Stolen things, Curt hazard a guess. Bingo. He tapped his watch, and though it was grainy, a voice expelled from it. 

“Curt!” Barb shouted, to which Curt shushed her. “Oh, sorry. Do you have the items?” 

“Yeah, along with a bunch of other stolen stuff.” 

“Really? That complicates things.” Barb could be heard messing with some papers, before answering again. 

“I think you should contact Cynthia. We didn’t expect more.” Curt nodded, saying goodbyes and hanging up. Cynthia was his boss, had been for a few months at that point, and she was  _ scary _ . He certainly did not look forward to calling her, but something had to be done. He inhaled, exhaled, and tapped his watch again. Cynthia Houston’s voice crackled from the surface. 

“Mega, where the fuck are you? Do you have the items?” Curt sighed, long and heavy. 

“Yeah, along with a whole bunch more. That’s why I’m calling. There’s a lot more than expected.” Cynthia apparently took no time to think, as she answered immediately: 

“Alright, I’ll send in a team. You get the painting and the 3 pieces of jewelry and return it to the Kunstmuseum Moritzburg as planned.” Curt assured her that he would,not even questioning how she knew the pronunciation of the place, and turned off his communicator. As he looked around for the specific items he was supposed to return, Curt almost missed the man behind him. Key word: almost. Curt wouldn’t be one of the best spies if he could miss stuff like this. He spun on his heels, pulling out his gun to confront the man behind him. 

The man was burly, clearly a local. He hurled at Curt, who ducked away, shooting in the man’s direction. He missed, surprisingly, and the man continued to tumble his way to attack Curt. He knocked Curt’s gun out of his hand, leaving Curt to use only his fists. Not exactly the most ideal situation when the man was twice his size, but Curt had faced worse. 

“Oh yeah, come and get it.” He taunted, causing the man to blindly barrel towards Curt. Curt, using it to his advantage, dodged and reached to punch the man in the face. He, being considerably shorter, missed. He was backed into a corner. The other man looked  _ very _ angry, and suddenly Curt was  _ very _ scared. Squeezing his eyes shut, he braced for impact, ready to be hit. 

When no blow came, Curt was admittedly extremely surprised. He slowly opened his eyes, to see the man he was fighting seconds ago lying on the ground, blood pouring from a wound in his forehead. Bullethole, by the looks of it. Curt looked around to see who could have done it; to thank his savior, only to find Sebastian from the bar earlier. He clutched a gun in his hands like he had done it a million times before, and he smirked at Curt. 

“How did I know you would need my help?” His accent was English. That was the first thing Curt discerned from him. He was speaking in English, another large factor, as they were in Germany. Curt simply stared at the man, startled. 

“I can only assume you work for the American Secret Service, am I wrong?” He offered a hand to Curt, who had crumpled to the floor while hiding from his previous attacker. Curt accepted, taking a moment longer that necessary to really just  _ take in _ the warmth of “Sebastian’s” hand. Curt nodded in answer to his question, and Sebastian nodded back. 

“So then you must be MI6, am I correct?” Curt asked, coating his question in a suave tone for impressions sake. 

“Yes,” Sebastian answered, glancing behind Curt to the items strewn about the room, “I suppose we should do something about these then, shouldn't we?” Curt tilted his head.

“I’ve got a team coming. All I have to do is get... ah ha!” Curt lifted a medium-sized painting from the corner and showed it to Sebastian, who smirked, looking at his with quite the amused expression. Curt realized that he must look quite ridiculous, and put the painting down. He scoured for the jewelry, finding a nice looking turquoise necklace and matching bracelet he was supposed to return, as well as an amethyst pendant. Sebastian watched him the entire time, though Curt could not tell what he was thinking. Finally, after enough silence, Sebastian spoke. 

“You know, my mission was to return those, too. We could help one another; the security system at Kunstmuseum Moritzburg will be easier to disarm with two.” Curt turned to meet the other man’s gaze. Looking him up and down, he seemed to be a good enough agent. Good enough to know that Curt was a spy from the start. He would be helpful enough. Perhaps, though he didn’t dare think it, he would be more helpful than Curt himself. Curt sighed. 

“Fine.”

That was how Curt found himself squeezing through a window with someone who he didn’t even know the real name of into what was basically a museum. A museum that was on high alert because of the items that had been stolen. The items that they were trying to return. 

“Oh hurry up already,” Curt groaned, waiting for the other man to get through. “We need to go to the surveillance room to deactivate the security!” Sebastian dropped from the window and grinned for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 

“Already dealt with, love. I contacted my people and they did all of the work. Simple, don’t you think?” Curt, still flustered from being called “love,” scoffed. 

“ _ Boring _ , don’t you think?” He imitated the other man’s accent, putting emphasis where it was necessary. “Come on, we’re closest to the jewelry area. We can get the painting after. 

The men traversed the empty halls, carefully rounding corners and shushing each other’s footsteps. There weren’t many signs of security guards, so either Sebastian’s people had dealt with them too, or there was simply a serious lack of staff. Either way, they quickly found themselves in front of the correct jewelry case. Curt grinned; now it was his time to shine. He pulled out a gadget, small and mysterious. Sebastian peered curiously over his shoulder, watching as Curt stuck the device to the glass. It whirred, before cutting a clean circle right into the casing. Sebastian gave an impressed whistle, and suddenly Curt felt very proud of himself. He slid the items in, and popped the cut circle back in the whole, before wiping it with a sort of sealant that secured it into place. 

It was easier with the painting; all they had to do was hang it back up where it belonged. With that, Curt and Sebastian found themselves on their way out soon enough, and before they knew it, they stood outside the castle, moonlight illuminating their features. Sebastian looked very pretty in the moonlight, Curt observed. He shook the thought out of head swiftly, and held his hand out to the other man. 

“That was a very efficient mission. I hope that maybe we can work together again, assuming foreign policy between America and Britain doesn’t fall apart tomorrow.” Curt smiled and nodded. He agreed. He did wonder just one thing though. 

“What’s your name? I’m Agent Curt Mega.” It was foolish for him to give out his name, but he supposed that Sebastian, or whatever his name was, had made him quite the fool already. Sebastian laughed, a quiet, airy sound, lighter than a feather, but as beautiful as a song. Curt felt himself stare for a bit longer than what was really necessary. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, love.” 

~

And that he did. 

It was only a few months after what he had generously nicknamed “The Halle Teamup” that he found out what Sebastian’s real name was. 

Cynthia had slid a file across her desk to him, as sure enough, sitting right there in front of him, was a picture of the man with the description “Agent Owen Carvour.” 

Owen Carvour, huh?

It was a nice name. Nicer that Sebastian, that’s for sure. Curt spent maybe a second too long staring at his face has he always did, and looked back up at Cynthia. She looked annoyed, but she wasn’t completely pissed, so that was a win in his book. 

“What’s the mission?” Curt asked her. She snubbed her cigarette in the tray on her desk and sighed. 

“You remember the mission in Halle, Germany, right?” How could he forget? 

“Yes?”

“And you remember the British guy who teamed up with you even though you suck and he doesn’t even work for us?”  _ Again, how could he forget.  _ Trying not to risk saying the thought out loud, Curt simply nodded. 

“Well, turns out there’s more to it than just thieves. We’ve uncovered evidence of a whole ass terrorist group over in that part of Germany, the group in Halle being only a small part of the picture. We’re teaming up with the MI6 for this, and we decided to put you with this Owen dude. Since you guys know each other.”

Curt felt oddly joyful. Not that there was a terrorist group, no, that was devastating, but that he was working with S—Owen again. He looked forward to it. 

He was to be stationed in Leung, Germany, a smaller town south of Halle. There, a large chemical industrial complex proved to be the main suspicion for what the group was up to in Leung. 

He just hoped it would go as well as last time.    
  


~

It went perfectly fine. 

When Curt first saw Owen again, he properly introduced himself. With his name and such. Agent Owen Carvour of MI6, blah blah blah. Curt, adhering to the weird new tradition, always did his things surrounding Owen for maybe a second longer than usual. Look at him, shake his hand, listen to his laugh. Curt was at a loss for  _ why _ he did it, but he had no time to question it. 

The mission itself ran smoothly; they were able to do what they were told, and neither of them had been seen. They returned to their halfway-decent hotel, and Curt proposed a drink. 

“Oh come on, we did it! I have a bottle in my room, we can share.” Owen scrunched his face. 

“Do you always have drinks on hand?” Curt shrugged. 

“Pretty much.” 

So there they were, sitting on the bed in Curt’s hotel room, sharing a drink like they had known each other for more than a couple of months. Curt took another sip of his, giggling at something Owen had said. He didn’t particularly remember what it was that he had said, just that it must have been funny. 

“So,” Curt started. “Why are you a spy? What made you join?” It was a question that had crossed Curt’s mind once or twice before, and now that all of the tension between themselves and each other had dissipated at the influence of the couple drinks they each had had, he felt brave enough to ask. 

“I suppose it was convenience. I joined MI6 because I had experience in battle, and I trained to where I am now. It’s really that simple.” Curt hummed. 

“It’s not that simple. It’s nice. At least you didn’t become a spy because of  _ spy movies. _ ” Curt said. His speech slurred slightly. He was drunker than Owen, he could tell. Owen raised his eyebrows, and Curt gave a questioning glance back. 

“What?” Curt asked, confused. 

“You said you became a spy because of spy movies.” 

“Wha—no! I didn’t say that!” 

“It was implied.” 

“Fine,” Curt gave in. “I became a spy because of spy movies. I watched them, and I thought it was cool, and it  _ is,  _ so here I am! A spy!” 

Owen gazed at Curt, eyes brimming with something Curt couldn’t identify. 

“I’ve never told anyone that.” Curt whispered, and suddenly he felt a lot closer to Owen than before. Still, why wasn’t it enough? Why did he want to be closer? 

He could feel Owen’s breath in huffs, warm in Curt’s face. 

The moment was broken when Owen stood up, rubbing his hands together and looking all-around uncomfortable. 

“Well! I’m sort of tired, so if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time for me to call it a night.” Owen wasted no time in exiting, leaving a very confused Curt in his wake. But, Curt was too drunk to care, so he collapsed into his sheets and forgot it when he woke up the next morning. 

After all, what was so important that he remember?

~

Curt saw Owen 4 times for missions after the first. 

The first three were barely eventful, not much happened. A few moments stood out. 

_ Curt gazed at Owen with the intensity of a thousand suns as the man took off his shirt.  _

That sounded wrong. 

_ Owen was injured, and Curt intended to bandage him. He hesitated for a moment, Owen’s bare chest stirred feelings in Curt that he didn’t normally feel. They weren’t  _ bad  _ though, rather exciting actually, just  _ weird _.  _

_ He shrugged it all off and came forward to bandage his partner.  _

_ He started with the wound on his side, working with the gauze and looking up every second to make sure Owen was alright.  _

_ “Look at the damn wound. If you keep looking at me all  _ worried _ like that you’ll never do anything.” Owen said, and Curt nodded.  _

_ His hands traversed Owen’s body, sometimes a little more than needed, but that was an accident (most of the time.) _

_ When Curt got to the face, he sat Owen down on the bed and, with a concentrated face that made him almost look constipated, he began his work there too. He wiped Owen’s face first, ridding it of blood. Then, he took to bandaging, placing bandages where he needed them. Curt concentrated on what he was doing, and tried very hard to push back the weird feeling in his stomach. He was very close to Owen.  _ Very _ close. It made him feel strange.  _

_ When he was finished, he pulled back, only to pause at the look on Owen’s face. It was… thoughtful.  _

_ “What are you thinking about?” He asked, only for Owen to shake his head.  _

_ “Nothing important,” he brushed his fingers over the bandages on his forehead, and smiled, a warm smile that sent Curt to the moon and back. “You did well with these, love.” Curt felt his face grow warm, a tingling sensation that lingered in his cheeks, like an angel had brushed them over and left the feeling of warmth like a blanket.  _

_ “Thanks.” He sputtered, and Owen’s grin only grew.  _

_ “You are very welcome.” He began to arrange his things, and Curt pouted. He was enjoying it, which annoyed Curt. Owen was enjoying making him all flattered.  _

_ Maybe Curt was enjoying it too, though.  _

That was their 3rd mission together. A decently crucial moment, leading up to a realization that occurred on Curth’s 4th mission with Owen Carvour. 

_ Curt and Owen were at a party.  _

_ It wasn’t for fun or leisure though, it was for a mission. They were to track down the woman they were after, capture and interrogate her, and hand them off to the British government (to Cynthia’s dismay.) _

_ Owen had seen her right away, and immediately made his way to her, quickly and elegantly, leaving Curt to stare in wonder and awe.  _

_ Curt could hear their conversation through his earpiece, and an odd feeling pooled in his gut. Not the usual odd feeling he got when he was around Owen, though. This one was different. Curt listened to the small talk with contempt, the feeling only growing stronger. Every flirt Owen sent her way, every touch, Curt felt his blood boil. It was jealousy, he discerned. For Owen. Curt wanted to be the one talking to the pretty lady. Of course, this pretty lady was a weapons dealer, but that only made it more exciting. Curt wanted to be the one in action, but Owen had insisted that he had a higher chance, before apologizing and assuring that Curt was perfectly charming, whatever that meant. Curt had been reduced to watching from afar, and listening to their conversation.  _

_ After a stretch of time, most of which Curt spent angry, the two of them walked upstairs, where Curt didn’t follow. Not only did he know what was probably going on in the empty room he supposed they must have found, and he did not want to see it, but he knew he had to keep an eye out in the main party. And yet, once his communicator crackled to life, Owen calling for Curt’s help, Curt couldn’t have ran faster.  _

_ Gun aimed frontwards, Curt pointed blindly into the room. The woman was tied to a chair, gagged, as Owen stood waiting.  _

_ “Good! You’re here!” Owen exclaimed,and suddenly Curt doubted there was any danger.  _

_ “You made me panic for no reason?” Curt stepped forward and glared at Owen. The other man simply smirked again.  _

_ “I wanted you up here as soon as possible, and I knew if you thought there was danger, you’d come faster. Now, help me with her.” _

_ They tightened her to the chair, and Owen contacted his higher-ups to confirm that they had apprehended the target. Curt brushed his hands together in satisfaction as he looked at her, all tied up. He felt a strange joy in seeing the woman captured. The woman who had just been flirting with Owen Carvour. Why did it make him glad to see her tied up? Was he really that sick? He was jealous of Owen with her earlier. Now was his time with her. So why would he rather be in the corner of the room with Owen, huddled so close that their hands would brush and— _

Okay. 

What?

_ Curt pondered long and hard about it, before deciding that maybe it wasn’t Owen Curt was jealous of.  _

_ Maybe it was the woman? _

_ It couldn’t be. What was he jealous of that she had. Money? Curt had that. She didn’t even have a better job, Curt already had the best job on the market (it probably wasn’t on the market, though) and he had what he needed. So what did she have that Curt didn’t?  _

_ Owen.  _

_ Rational thoughts were coming from some part of his brain, a part often repressed. The thought came bubbling to the surface though, and sent Curt spiraling.  _

_ Suddenly it all horribly and beautifully clicked.  _

_ The feeling he felt when Owen helped him. The feeling he felt when Owen would look at him. The feeling he felt when Owen would laugh, a wonderful sound.  _

_ Maybe, just maybe, Curt was attracted to Owen.  _

_ There was a whole other thing to unpack about him being another man, but all Curt could think about was Owen, and all Curt could see was Owen, and all he could hear was Owen. Basically, he was distracted.  _

_ He would be distracted by that same face for the rest of his life.  _

His 5th mission with Owen, now, that’s where things went wrong. 

_ All it was supposed to be was an empty warehouse with plans stored in its computing system. It was meant to be easy.  _

_ Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t.  _

_ Bennstedt, Germany. What a town.  _

_ It was a decently-sized warehouse, for a small town. Yet, they broke in easily. Creeping through the facility, Curt eyed Owen. He kept doing that. Looking at Owen, checking out Owen, being extremely attracted to Owen. It was sort of a problem, when he would do things like  _ spend the majority of debriefing staring at him _. It was idiotic. Just like how much of an idiot he was for falling for Owen Carvour of all people. Well, he was spectacular.  _

_ “Focus, love.” Owen sharply brought Curt from his daydreaming state. Curt shook his head a bit, like shaking it would get all of his loud thoughts out. It didn’t.  _

_ They slipped around corners, being stealthy and quiet, even though the building was supposedly abandoned. One could never be sure. They were supposed to recover abandoned data files from a large computer somewhere around, but Curt saw no large computer, so he was at a loss. Owen was smarter and more patient than Curt, so he dragged Curt along another corridor.  _

_ “Come on, it can’t be here! If it’s really giant, it’ll be in the back for sure.” Curt pouted, and Owen rolled his eyes.  _

_ “We have to be thorough, love. We can’t stand to miss anything. If it’s in the back, we’ll see it when we check the back.”  _

_ The checked the area, and descended into the back of the building. There, they found what they were looking for.  _

_ “I told you! I fucking told you!” Curt shouted, and Owen shushed him, though he was grinning.  _

_ “I guess you did tell me.” He approached the machine. “Quickly! We can be out of here in ten if we do this efficiently!”  _

_ Curt approached beside Owen, eyeing the large panel that was probably the controls. He watched Owen’s hands fly over it; his face scrunching up as he concentrated. Curt knew his face was probably dusted with a pink blush, but he didn’t particularly care about that then. He just watched his partner with wild eyes, mission all but forgotten.  _

_ “What’s that look for?” Curt was brought back to reality by Owen, who was now staring at him, a questioning look on his face. Curt let out a nervous laugh.  _

_ “Just trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing. This is certainly not my area.” Owen nodded, but he didn’t seem to believe it. He refocused on the task at hand, and Curt quickly grew bored. He groaned loudly.  _

_ “Something wrong, love?” Owen raised an eyebrow. Curt groaned again. He slumped against the side of the panel.  _

_ “I’m bored.”  _

_ “Well, my attention can’t be on you all the time, Curt. Nobody’s can. You’re insufferable.”  _

_ “Ah, you like it.”  _

_ “ _ I do. _ ” Owen whispered, but Curt hadn’t heard it then.  _

_ “What’d you say?” Curt asked, and Owen shook his head.  _

_ “I said I don’t. Now, I’m almost done, so we can be out of here soon.” Curt rejoiced at that. He wanted to be out of the place and go back to the hotel and either crash or talk with Owen for hours. Preferably the second option. Curt loved watching his partner’s eyes glow as discussed what he was passionate about. It usually took a bit of alcohol to loosen him up, but once he was loose, he came undone, and it was beautiful.  _

_ But, Curt was abruptly ripped from his fantasy when an alarm sounded. He whipped his head around to face Owen, and greeted the look of terror on his face.  _

_ “Gotta go, love!” He shouted over the alarm, and grabbed Curt to begin running. They sprinted to the door, where they were met by a group of what looked to be guards, though they looked more like thugs, armed with different kinds of weapons. He glanced at Owen, who nodded, signaling the beginning of a fight.  _

_ Curt launched himself at two of the men, bringing the men down and slamming their heads on the ground and knocking them out. He pulled out his gun to shoot another, and glanced at Owen. He looked like he was having a hard time, so Curt leaped over to aid him, grabbing at the man above him and knocking him unconscious with the side of his gun. He lingered over Owen for a second, staring into his vulnerable brown eyes for just a moment longer. The moment broke when another guard came at Curt, knocking him to the side. This time it was Owen’s job to save him, shoving the guard aside and shooting him in the leg. He offered a hand to Curt, who took it, the ghost of a thank you on his lips. But before he could say a word, Owen was pulling him out of the building, and they were running to where they had hidden the car in the woods.  _

_ “Shit!” Curt shouted as they entered the car. “Go, go, go!” Owen revved the engine, and they sped onto the main road. A quick look proved that they were not being followed. Curt slumped in his seat, exhausted from fighting. He glanced over at Owen, who looked wrecked with stress. He held the wheel in a death grip, staring straight forward.  _

_ “Who told us that place was abandoned, again?” Curt grumbled. Owen gave a single glance his way, but Curt didn’t meet his eyes.  _

_ “Cynthia’s going to murder me.”  _

_ “You’ll live.” _

_ “That is literally the opposite of murder.” Owen snorted at that, and when Curt heard it, he ascended into heaven for a moment.  _

_ Of course, he would be brought straight to hell once Cynthia got to him.  _

That was where he sat now, in front of a fuming Cynthia, ready to die. 

“This is  _ your _ fucking fault, Mega. Don’t go blaming it on Carvour, (he hadn't) this is on YOU.” She sighed, and buried her face in her hands. “And now they know your faces. The  _ least _ you could have done was take them out. You’ve put yourselves in danger.” Curt shifted in his seat. She was right. They should have at least killed the guards. But Owen grabbed his hand and pulled him out, and that was really all Curt could focus on in the moment. He had hoped his feelings wouldn’t interfere with any missions, but here they were. 

“We have decided, along with the approval of MI6, to place Owen and you in a safe house in Britain.” Curt’s thoughts all paused, taking a long moment to intake the information he was given. 

Alone. In a house. With Owen Carvour. 

_ Fuck.  _

Part of him wanted to jump for joy. Living with Owen for maybe a week? A  _ month _ ? It sounded too good to be true. But it was also treacherous. In a house alone with his crush? It was a recipe for disaster. 

“You’ll probably be in the house for a couple weeks, maybe a month. It’s stocked with food and stuff, so you won’t have to go grocery shopping right away. It’ll be cold, though, so be prepared for that. You leave in two days.” 

Well then, Curt better fucking prepare. 

~~~

When he got to the house, Owen was already there. Curt was escorted to the place, before being horribly abandoned and left to fend for himself.  _ You can do this, Mega. It’s only Owen. You know, your crush.  _

Fuck, he couldn’t do it. 

But, he was through the door, so it was really too late. 

“Nice to see you, Curt. Welcome to home for the next couple weeks.” He twirled around, arms outstretched. “We did this to ourselves, really. All we can do is make the most of it.” 

“This is… nice.” It was. It was one floor, but there was a nice kitchen, a cozy living room, and the interior was generally nice and welcoming. 

“I claimed that bedroom,” he pointed at a door, “so that’s yours. Feel free to put your stuff in.” Curt did just that, opening the door and placing his bag gently on the bed, too tired and jet lagged to actually unpack. 

He strolled out to the main section of the house once again, only to be greeted with the image of one Owen Carvour  _ cooking _ . 

“Are you cooking?” Curt voiced his thoughts, to which Owen turned to face him. He smirked,  _ (holyshitholyshitholyshit)  _ and dumped the contents of what he was making onto two plates. Holding one of the plates out to Curt, Owen sat down at the small table in the kitchen area and, placing a fork and a napkin to the side of his own plate, used his other hand to lift the same set of utensils to Curt, who took the plate and utensils gratefully. 

He looked down to his plate to find rather delectable-looking spaghetti staring back up at him. 

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Curt said. Owen shrugged. 

“I had to make the meals for my sister when I was younger. I learned.” He said it so casually, but it was sort of sad. Curt always had his mom dotting over him, to the point where he was annoyed by it; he hadn’t thought about what it would be like to not have her by his side 24/7. Curt didn’t say this, though, instead he asked:

“You have a sister?” Owen nodded, food in his mouth. Once he had swallowed, he answered. 

“Her name’s Emily. Goes by Em though. She’s a sweetheart; works in the heart of London.” He didn’t elaborate further, so Curt didn’t ask. After a bit of time, the delicate silence of the room was broken with a question from Owen. 

“You’ve mentioned your mom before. Are you close?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we are. My dad left when I was a baby, so it’s just been us. I guess that made us closer.” Curt paused. He wasn’t ever open about that. His supposed Owen was different. Owen was special. He spent maybe a little to long pondering that (anything to keep himself from staring). 

“I can’t believe I was put in a safe house with  _ you _ of all people. It’s ridiculous.” Curt sensed the humor in his tone and laughed. 

“You’re stuck with me.” 

“Yes, and it’s awful, love.” He adored when Owen called him that. Sure, he called everyone that. Probably. But a guy could dream. 

The dinner was long forgotten once conversation started between the men, friendly banter and laughter echoing in the home like a song. They weren’t often able to chat like this; they wanted to take advantage of it. 

It was late into the night now, and Curt felt himself growing tired. He could talk to Owen for hours, but a sleepy and jet lagged Curt Mega could mean a lot of things, especially when talking to Owen. He yawned, and with a stretch, stood up. 

“I think it’s time for me to turn in for the night. I didn’t sleep at all on the flight.” He wasn’t an airplane sleeper. Owen rose from his seat as well, grabbing the dishes, an unspoken symbol that he would take care of it. God Curt loved him. 

_ Fuck, what?  _

He was tired. That explained any and all of his thoughts at that moment. Heading to his bedroom, he paused before entering the door. He looked back at Owen, who now stood at the sink, doing the dishes as he had indicated. 

“Goodnight, Owen.”

“Night, love.” 

Curt quickly entered his room, pulling off his clothes before crashing in his bed, not bothering to unpack even a little. 

After a little while, Curt gave in and grabbed one of the pillows, pulling it close and pretending it was Owen, who was devastatingly close, but still too far away for Curt’s tastes. 

~

When Curt awoke the next day, ready to face the day, he was abruptly stopped _immediately_ after he exited his room. 

He was quickly greeted with the sight of his partner with absolutely no shirt on. 

_ Fuck, why is he so hot?  _

Curt’s world stopped at the sight, and he felt his face grow warm. His skin buzzed, and he felt like his head was going to explode. 

Before Owen could notice him, Curt practically ran back into his room, making sure to close the door quietly so that Owen wouldn’t hear. Slumped against the wall, hand on his forehead, crushing like a maniac, Curt Mega was a mess. 

He had thought he could go on with it. Deal with it. With Owen. But if this was a daily occurrence, he didn’t know if he could. Well, he was sort of fine with the whole not-wearing-a-shirt thing. But it really just couldn’t work. 

But he had no way out. Unless he got up and left, something that would get him fired for sure, not only put him in danger, he was stuck. 

He took a deep breath. He would go out there, and he would deal with it, and any looking at Owen would be strictly professional and proper. 

When he stepped out, however, that all went to literal shit. 

“Morning, love. I made breakfast, if you want some. I know some people aren’t breakfast people.” Owen said, gesturing to the kitchen counters, where food did indeed sit. He smiled, a warm sort of smile, the kind that was reserved for only the most special people. Owen was the most special person. 

“Well, I certainly am a breakfast person.” He made his way to grab a plate of food. “I don’t know how someone couldn’t be a breakfast person, but alright.” Owen chucked, and Curt sat down on the couch, beside Owen. Still no shirt. Curt tried not to stare. He decided to intently focus on the eggs he was eating. They were good eggs. Owen was a good cook. Maybe he should voice that opinion. 

“You’re a good cook.” 

“Thanks. Though, you shouldn’t eat on the couch, love. You’re going to ruin it.” 

“Oh, shove off.” 

They fell into their usual speech patterns very quickly. Curt felt like himself when he was with Owen. It was a scary feeling, but it was exhilarating. He had found a way to stop staring at Owen’s bare chest, but it might have made things worse, as he was now trapped in Owen’s eyes. They were like a muddy prison, really. Owen’s eyes somehow made mud appealing, which was quite a feat to be honest, as mud was certainly not appealing. From the way it got everywhere to—

Where was he? 

Oh right! Owen. Owen’s eyes. 

Curt simply adored how they brightened considerably when he was talking about something he cared about. They lit up like the midday sun, bright and beautiful, adoring everything they set their gaze upon. Ah, if only. 

But, Curt was awoken from his pleasant daydream by Owen himself, who had apparently stopped talking and began  _ asking _ . 

“Curt?  _ Curt _ !” 

“I—uh, sorry, what?” Curt said, trying to make up for his lack of listening. 

“I asked you a question. Were you listening?” 

“I was! And, uh, yes. The answer is… yes.” Owen raised an eyebrow. 

“So you are going rogue and joining MI6 then?” 

“Pardon?”

“See, love you weren’t listening.” Curt pouted. Something glanced over Owen’s face, and suddenly he was smiling, and  _ oh _ the warm eyes were  _ back _ and it was  _ wonderful _ . 

“The actual question was: do you want to play chess? I noticed a rather nice set in the closet yesterday, and I thought that it would be nice, since we’re fresh out of things to do.” 

_ Oh, I can think of a couple of— _

No! God, what was he thinking! He had to keep his thoughts under control. Calm. You’re calm, Mega. Now, answer like a sane human.

“Eyes!”  _ Fuck no, _ “I mean, yes! That’d be fun. Yeah…” Curt trailed off. The whole eyes fixation had ended up worse than the lack of a shirt and  _ ohrightOwen’sstillnotwearinhashirtstillohlord _ . 

“Okay then…” Owen gave Curt a curious look, to which Curt just gave a strained smile back. Owen shrugged. 

“I’m going to go put a shirt on.” He paused. “You should take a shower. You stink.” Curt mocked being offended, before chuckling and sliding into the bathroom and locking himself in. He slumped against the back of the door. 

_ So _ many feelings. How could Curt deal with it. Was he going to be this awkward the entire time? And why was Owen so damn  _ pretty _ ?

Curt decided he’d take a cold shower and try not to think about it. 

~

Owen and him did end up playing chess that afternoon, Owen clutching his tea like a lifeline (he was both very British and very bad at chess) while Curt breezed his way through every game. It was nice; it gave him time to watch Owen’s slender fingers handle the pieces in a beautiful way that he could think about forever, but he simply did not have the time. 

“Bullshit!” Owen shouted after he lost for the 4th time in a row. He pointed an accusatory finger into Curt’s chest, and Curt shivered at the contact. “You’re  _ cheating _ .” 

“I’m just good at chess, Owen.” Curt smirked. Owen rolled his eyes. 

“It’s just dumb luck. Let’s play another round and I’ll show you, love.” 

They played several more rounds, ending with Owen’s only win (Curt had purposely gone easy on him just to see the excitement and triumph in his eyes when he won).

The rest of the day went by like a gust of wind, and Curt thought that maybe, just maybe, he could handle this. 

~

Multiple times over the course of the following week and a half did Curt find himself staring at Owen. Had he found a few ways to control it? Sure. Had that made it stop entirely? God no. Owen was too unbelievably attractive for that. 

There was also the sudden revelation that happened at the beginning of the first whole weekend of staying in the safehouse. 

It was a cold day. Their heating was faltering, and the house was chilly as could be. Sadly, that prevented Owen from roaming shirtless about the house. What a shame. 

“You must be freezing, love. You aren’t even wearing socks!” Owen had been very disapproving of Curt’s lack of self-preservation that day when it came to layers. Curt didn’t like layering up; he would rather get frostbite. Owen, who had been wearing 5 shirts, not to mention the amount of pants, claimed that Curt  _ must  _ layer up, as he was cold looking at him. Curt told him to fuck off. 

“Owen, we talked about this earlier. I’m fine.” 

“Well, if you refuse, you give me no choice.” Curt perked you at that. What was Owen up to? Owen left the room for a moment, and when he returned, he held a blanket in his arms. 

“Here, love. At least take this.” Curt reached for the blanket, but Owen spread it over Curt himself instead. Pretending his red face was simply from the cold, Curt thanked Owen. 

“No problem, love.” He dashed to the kitchen to grab his tea again, and joined Curt on the sofa. 

“You didn’t have to get me this, you know.” Curt said. Owen shrugged. 

“Just looking at you was making me cold. I had to do something.” Curt was a spy. He could tell there was more than what Owen had said, but he didn’t press. 

Owen took care of him. It felt Curt’s stomach with butterflies, fluttering about and dancing along to an unsung song that Curt couldn’t quite figure out the words to. But some of it was beginning to make sense. Some of it. 

Curt didn’t waste time thinking too deeply about it. Instead, Curt not-so-subtly rested a bit of his weight on Owen’s side. Owen was warm. And Curt was desperate for affection. 

Owen didn’t remark on it, and in return, Curt didn’t remark on how Owen leaned in too, equally touch-starved. 

~

“You really must teach me how to cook.” 

Curt slammed his palms on to the kitchen table, and Owen turned to gaze at him, a smug look on his face. 

They had been at the safehouse for nearly a week, and it had become a home. Their home. A small, strange sanctum that they had all to themselves. Just Owen and Curt. 

Owen continued to be good at cooking, something that Curt wished to bring up that day. 

“I’m not so sure you could learn, love. It’s quite complicated. Maybe even too complicated for the  _ great _ Curt Mega.” Curt put a hand to his chest, mocking offense. Owen laughed, a bright laugh, and rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll teach you.” Curt pumped his fist into the air in triumph. “But!” Owen interrupted, “You have to behave. No whining.” 

“I don’t  _ whine _ .” 

“You’re literally whining right now, love.” 

“Whatever.”

Owen beckoned him closer, and with a swift flick of the wrist, he grabbed a bowl from the side and placed it in front of Curt. 

“We’re going to make the easiest think I know how to make: scrambled eggs.”

“Aw, come on! Scrambled eggs? Start me out with something hard.”

“Ah ah ah,” Owen pressed a finger to Curt’s chest. “You’re whining. You said you wouldn’t whine.”

“I’m not whining! Plus, I said whatever, I never said I wouldn’t.”

“Okay, love.” 

Owen guided Curt through the first few steps. They cracked four eggs, though technically five, as Curt’s attempt at cracking one ended up with a decently large mess. Once that was cleaned up, Owen proceeded to crack the rest, scolding Curt the entire time. Owen helped Curt whisk the egg, which eventually lead to some hands-on assistance. 

“Curt, you’re doing it wrong, you have to whisk  _ harder _ .” 

“I’m whisking plenty hard! You don’t have to—”

Before he could say anything else, Owen’s hands were on his own, and he was guiding him through it. Curt looked up, only to see Owen intently staring at their hands. His arms were around Curt, and it was driving Curt  _ wild _ . Their hands moved together, and suddenly, Curt couldn’t take it anymore. He shrugged Owen off. 

“I got it.” He preceded to pick up his whisking pace, now fueled with both spite and arousal. Owen backed off, simply choosing to watch from the sidelines. Once Curt had apparently whisked an appropriate amount, Owen stopped him. 

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” He brought down a medium-sized pan from the cabinet and placed it on the stove. “We need to grease it. Get the butter.” Curt obliged, and Owen held up a newfound butter knife. He cut a sliver of the butter, looking up at Curt to make sure he was watching. Curt saw this, and began to protest. 

“I’m watching!” 

“I know, I’m just making sure you know that you only need a  _ little  _ butter. God knows you’d try to use the entire stick.” Lighting the stove, he put the butter in the pan and let it melt, gesturing to the bowl. “Pour it in.” 

“Okay, okay!” Curt poured the eggs in, watching as they began to sizzle, the edges turning a white color. Owen picked up the whisk and began to scramble the eggs, every few seconds letting them sit before scrambling again. 

“Curt, grab two plates, please.” Curt obliged, and Owen dumped the contents of the pan onto the plates, evenly distributing them. He looked up at Curt, and grinning, he held up the plates. 

“Brunch?” 

~

One very unexpected morning, Curt walked out of his bedroom, only to find Owen, sat casually on the couch, in one of  _ Curt’s _ shirts. 

“Is that my shirt?” Owen glanced up, and for a second Curt saw panic in his eyes. 

“Oh—Uh, this? Uh…” 

“It’s fine. Ran out of your own?” Owen nodded, and there was something that was unsaid, but Curt didn’t ask, because he himself had something unsaid too, and he knew how much he would dislike it if  _ he _ was the one questioned here. Instead, he looked at Owen. Bad idea. 

You see, Owen in Curt’s shirt was, well, hot as fuck. 

Owen somehow wore a simple cotton shirt like a model, the way it was a bit big on him, the way it exposed his collar bone just ever so slightly, it was all suddenly very overwhelming for Curt. That was  _ Owen _ in  _ Curt’s _ shirt, and it drove Curt wild all over again. 

“Curt? Love, are you alright?” Owen looked concerned now, and Curt realized that he was probably silently staring for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just… zoned out.” 

“Okay. Well, what we need to do,” Owen rose from his seat on the couch, facing Curt, “is go grocery shopping. Soon enough, we could be nearly snowed in, and I say we get more food before then, eh love?” Curt made a noise of agreement, and they were soon off. 

They weren’t meant to leave the house very often, but grocery shopping was one of their excuses, so Curt took pleasure in being outside more than just the porch in what was a little over a week. He looked over at Owen, who seemed to be enjoying it too, and it filled Curt with joy, seeing Owen content. 

“You know, being out here reminds me that we are essentially stuck in the house. Better enjoy it while we can, eh old boy?” Owen nudged Curt, and when Curt nudged back, it became a small war, who could nudge the other more. They probably were granted a few odd looks, sure, but Curt was too amused to notice or care. When the store loomed in front of them Curt couldn’t lie, he was a bit disappointed. Time to act like proper adults, he supposed. 

Shopping was a general disaster. Curt knew that he and Owen had differences, but they truly came out while in that store. Owen wanted the bare essentials, Curt wanted cookies. Now, in Curt’s opinion, cookies  _ were  _ the bare essentials. But, Owen did not agree, sending them into a heated argument in the middle of the store. 

“Curt you are literally a  _ child _ . I mean, biscuits? Bare essentials, Curt. Bare essentials!” He threw his hands up into the air. “We were told to buy the bare essentials. Now, I was willing to go a bit above that, as I would like to make a quality dinner every once and awhile. But, biscuits are just ridiculous.” Curt was barely listening. He was too busy eyeing the selection of cookies, debating which were best. 

“They’re called cookies.”

“Oh, of  _ course  _ that’s what you take away from this.” Owen grumbled, but his tone had cooled down, so Curt declared it a win in his books. “And they’re biscuits, love.”

“Nope.”

“Whatever. You can call them whatever you want, we’re just not getting any.”

“Aw, come on Owen. Please?” Curt pouted at Owen, practically making puppy eyes, to which Owen rolled his eyes. But, Curt recognized him holding back a smile. 

They walked out of the store with their groceries, including a package of cookies. 

~

Their heater was officially declared broken on what was supposed to be the coldest day of the year in the area. Owen had taken ‘a closer look,’ which was essentially just squinting at it and screwing with a couple of things, and decided it himself. It was broken. 

“Are you sure?” Curt asked, squinting at it harder in hopes of finding some sort of solution. 

“Yep. Sorry love, but it’s busted as can be by the looks of it.” He gave Curt a sideways glance, recognizing the stress and disappointment in his face. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He turned to fully face Curt. “We’ll be fine. Only a couple more layers at all times, right?” That got Curt to smile. Owen always got Curt to smile. He had that effect on him. Made Curt feel butterflies. Owen smiled back, and they found themselves staring at one another again. It was a pretty frequent occurrence. 

Curt almost forgot all about the broken heater that day, extra layers working in providing warmth. Owen had on extra layers too, actually a couple more than Curt, as Owen was more cold-sensitive. Curt thought he looked ridiculously adorable. 

He was quickly reminded of the cold, though, when it was time to go to bed. Curt disliked layers most while he slept; it made him very uncomfortable. So, he was at a loss for what to do. He went prowling around the house for more blankets, but to no avail. 

He was now hovered in front of Owen’s bedroom door, tempted to go in and ask for a blanket or something on the off chance that he 1. Was shirtless (it was very cold, but sometimes Owen had still found ways to do it. Curt couldn’t complain.) or 2. Would give Curt one of  _ his _ blankets, and it might smell like him. Curt liked his odds. 

He knocked on the door first, for politeness sake. Owen opened the door with a heave, and to Curt’s dismay, he wore a shirt. Many shirts, actually. But, even under all those layers, Owen was still gorgeous. 

“Yes?” Owen said. He sounded tired. Curt felt bad for waking him up. 

“Sorry for waking you. I wanted to ask for a blanket.” He paused, something that was akin to bravery churning throughout his body. “Or, at least like… a shirt, or something.” Owen, most likely in a half-asleep state, actually shrugged off a shirt, bundling it up and tossing it at Curt’s chest. He was surprised; he didn’t actually expect Owen to give him a shirt. Curt was strangely touched. He clutched onto it like a lifeline. 

“No can do on the blanket old boy, I’ve only got a few. Unless you want to get in with me.” Curt would’ve thought that it’d be a joke, complete with some humor in his voice. But, he sounded serious. It caught Curt off guard. He really was tired. 

“I don’t want to take up space—” Curt looked for an excuse while blushing furiously. He knew that he probably looked like a flustered idiot, but that was what he was. Worst part of it, was that Owen looked serious. 

“Are you sure?” Curt said tentatively. He wanted to make absolutely sure that Owen meant it. Curt was cold, and this way, they could share all of the blankets. Yeah, practicality. It was an excuse to sleep with Owen, Curt knew that. But, he tried to tell himself otherwise. Owen nodded. 

“Okay… I’ll go get my blankets... I guess.” Curt practically ran to get his blankets, excitement setting in. He,  _ Curt Mega _ , was going to sleep in the same bed as  _ Owen Carvour.  _ He stopped in the center of his room and squealed, just like he was in middle school and had gotten a high-five from an older student (which, now that Curt has realized the whole kinda-sorta-homosexual thing, he politely recognizes as really his crush at the time.) Basically, Curt was really fucking thrilled. Pumping his fists into the air, Curt realized that he still clutched Owen’s shirt. Bringing it in closer, Curt buried his nose in it, taking in his scent. Realizing just how weird it was, Curt sheepishly brought it down, tugging it on over his other shirt. He grabbed his blankets in one fell swoop, and before he knew it, he was out the door. 

When Curt turned up, blankets overflowing from his arms, and a stupid grin on his face, Owen raised his head from where it was already resting on the bed and gave a sleepy smile back, one that filled Curt with butterflies and somehow widened his own smile, too. 

“Get in here.” Owen half-mumbled, beckoning Curt over. Curt obliged. Dumping his blankets on the bed, Owen and him worked to spread the blankets out, before Curt slid in himself next to Owen. When he turned on his side, he found himself face-to-face with Owen, an unreadable look on his face. 

“G’night.” Curt said quietly. 

“Night, love.” Owen responded with another sleepy smile that made Curt melt inside and out. 

Curt drifted off with the comfortable knowledge of the identity of the weight beside him him bed, peacefully and easily. 

He felt safe. 

~

When Curt woke up the next morning, he knew something was up. 

He didn’t know it immediately. He  _ did _ know, though, that that was one of the best nights of sleep he had had in awhile, and that he had woken up in the middle of the night maybe once or twice, only to be completely enveloped by Owen. Limbs intertwined in a knot, Owen’s face in the crook of Curt’s neck, chests pressed together, the works. 

It was different when he woke up. 

He was cold. That was the first thing he felt: cold. That already didn’t feel right, because wasn’t he is Owen’s bed? And wasn’t Owen right there next to him? 

Well, he was in Owen’s bed. Curt confirmed it when he pried open his eyes, blinking a couple of times and slowly bringing himself to a sitting position. The blankets were heavy, but not enough to effect Curt in any way. 

But, Owen was not in his bed. There was only an empty spot where Owen was. Where Owen should be, always. Right next to Curt. 

He swung his legs off of the bed with a push, startled by the cold. He would have to take a warm shower. After he found Owen. As Curt walked out of the room, he called out for him. 

“Owen? You here?” Owen was there. Curt car face-to-face with him as he rounded to corner into the kitchen. He looked… tired. 

“I’m here, l—” Owen stopped himself. He was about to say love, Curt knew it. Why he stopped was a sullen wonder in the back of his mind, eating away at him. 

“Okay.” Curt grinned at Owen, who gave a halfhearted smile back. 

“So,” Curt began. “what’s for breakfast?” Owen shrugged. 

“I think we have some cereal.” 

“So you’re not making anything  _ fancy _ today?” 

“No Curt, I’m not. I’m sorry that I don’t cater to your every need and desire!” Owen said angrily. Wow, okay. Something was  _ really _ up today. 

That  _ feeling _ continued to eat away at Curt, slowly but surely. 

~

Later, when Curt had eaten his cereal quietly and taken a long shower, he tried speaking to Owen again. 

“So...” He began. Owen’s head snapped up, and when his expression was unfriendly, Curt tried his best to take caution. “What do you want to do today?” Owen shrugged, something he had done dozens of times that day. But, this time he did answer. 

“Maybe the place needs cleaning. I thought I saw some cobwebs in the back. I’ll get on that.” Before Curt could say anything else, Owen was gone. Curt closed his mouth with disappointment. 

The feeling kept gnawing. 

~

No words were uttered at dinner that night. 

Curt had practically given up trying. Nothing would get Owen to utter a sentence, unless it was either aggravated or a scapegoat. 

So they ate in silence. Curt just wanted to hear Owen again. He wanted to hear happy Owen, who called Curt love, and who would smile at Curt and make Curt melt. He loved Owen any way, but seeing Owen in a bad mood was bringing him down deep below the ground, and all Curt wanted to do was fly high. 

And yet, the feeling kept eating away. 

~

Curt decided that night that he had to do something.  _ Anything _ . 

So, he confronted Owen. It went… well, it went. 

“Hey Owen?” He started tentatively. “Are you okay? You’ve been touchy today.” Owen sighed, the sort of sigh someone uses when they’re exasperated. Curt immediately regretted speaking. 

“Curt.” Owen said, in a cold tone. “Did it  _ ever _ cross your mind that maybe I was  _ touchy _ is because I just don’t want to  _ put up with you today?”  _ Curt took a timid step back, and Owen’s expression softened ever so slightly, before hardening again. 

“Look Curt.” Owen rested his hand over his face, pinching his eyebrows together. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” 

“Maybe if you just told what you were upset about, you’d feel better?” Curt tried. 

“You just don’t  _ see _ , do you Curt?” Owen raised his voice, successfully intimidating Curt. “ _ I’m _ the one who invited you into my bed last night. This is on  _ me _ .” 

At that, Curt quickly knew what that feeling eating away at him was about. What this all was about. 

And it scared him to his core. 

“Owen.” Curt stuttered out. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Curt this isn’t about  _ you! _ I bet you  _ hate _ me right now. And if you knew, you’d hate me even more.” 

“Knew what?” Curt whispered, a final attempt at keeping his sanity, his dignity,  _ anything _ . Owen probably knew, knew all about the  _ feelings _ Curt had been feeling, how  _ wrong _ they were, and how  _ disgusting _ he was, and he was probably so  _ disappointed— _

“I’m in love with you! There! There it is! The cat’s out of the bag!” Owen shouted, and Curt stopped. He took a moment to process what had just been said in his brain. Owen continued. 

“Now you hate me for sure. Go ahead, shout at me! Shut me out! Be  _ disgusted _ , be  _ disappointed _ ,  _ something _ !” Curt did nothing. 

“Oh come on! Come at me! Fight me! Slap me, even.” Curt inched his way towards Owen as he continued his frantic rambling. “Just do  _ something— _ ”

Owen was cut off suddenly by Curt’s mouth on his, and a surprised noise emitted from him as he was. 

The kiss was… well, aggravated. Owen immediately began to kiss back with an unmatched fury, his hands sliding all over Curt, and into his hair, where he pulled at the short strands. Curt nearly moaned when he did that. 

Rather quickly, Owen's tongue was in Curt’s mouth, and Curt’s was in Owen’s, and they were all over each other just like that. Curt took charge, getting competitive against Owen, fighting for dominance of the kiss. He pressed Owen against the nearest wall, slightly slipping his hands under Owen’s many shirts and pressing his cold hands underneath. Owen shivered. 

Curt began to explore downwards, kissing a trail down Owen’s neck as Owen continued to breath heavily. Curt slightly nipped at a spot on the side of his neck, causing him to full-out moan. But Curt stopped, because they needed to talk about this, and pulled away from Owen. Owen let out a slight pout, before meeting Curt’s eyes slowly. 

“We need to talk about this.” Owen groaned at that, pressing his face into Curt’s neck. Curt grew warm at the contact. 

“No we don’t.” 

“Yes, we do.”

“Talking about it always messes it up.” Owen looked up at Curt again, who had nothing but adoration and sympathy in his eyes. 

“Talking about it makes it last.” 

“How do you know that?” Curt smiled softly. 

“Can you think of a time where you didn’t talk about it, and it lasted.” Owen groaned again, and they both knew that Curt had won. 

“Fine! You win!” Owen threw his hands up in defense. He walked over to the couch, and slumped onto it. “Let’s  _ talk _ .” 

Curt followed, and soon they were both on the couch, staring into each other’s eyes, and drinking it all in. 

“So.” Curt said. 

“So.” Owen continued. “Is this you telling me that this can’t happen? That because of the risks we can’t do this? Is this  _ that _ talk?” 

“No, Owen.” Curt assured. “Even if I thought it was a good idea, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do this knowing that we had something and stopped it.” Owen nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah.” He twiddled his fingers, staring down at them. “But you’re sure that this isn’t just pity, or—”

“ _ No _ , Owen.” Curt interrupted once again. “I’ve been feeling this for a long time.” He smiled, small but true. “It’s like an old friend at this point.” 

He looked up at Owen to read his expression, but he found it unreadable. Curt was unsure what that was a sign of. 

“Okay.” Owen whispered. Curt took his hand, and Owen let him. 

“I love you.” Curt spoke quietly but confidently. Owen looked up from their interlocked hands at that, shock written on his face. 

“What? You didn’t think I loved you.” Owen’s tentative look gave Curt an answer, so he reassured him. “Well, I do. So you can wipe that look off of your face, and just  _ rest _ .” Owen sighed, and Curt thought it was a good sign, until he saw tears brimming in Owen’s eyes. 

“Oh, come on. Shh.” Curt comforted Owen, bringing himself closer and pressing their limbs together. Owen began to quietly cry, as Curt stroked his arm and whispered calming words to him. 

“I’m sorry.” Owen choked out, and Curt brought them a little closer. 

“It’s fine, Owen. It’s completely fine.” 

“It’s just that, I never thought this day would come. That you would actually be  _ here _ , and that you would feel the same. It’s a little overwhelming.” He laughed a bit through the tears, and Curt smiled. 

“I didn’t think this would happen either, but I guess look how lucky we are.” Owen nodded. 

“Yeah. We’re lucky.” He looked into Curt’s eyes, and suddenly Curt knew all about why he fell for the man, knew it a thousand times over and over again. “We’re real lucky.” 

Curt kissed the tears from Owen’s eyes. 

“I love you.” 

Curt kissed Owen’s forehead. 

“I love you.” 

Curt kissed Owen’s nose. 

“I love you.” 

Curt then kissed Owen on the mouth, this time long and sweet, like a million assurances that everything would be okay were all wrapped up right into it. 

Curt Mega loved agent Owen Carvour. But he sort of preferred the man underneath, the man who could cook, the man who went shirtless into he mornings, the man who didn’t want to buy anything but the bare essentials, the man who didn’t play chess but knew how to look attractive while doing it. The man who fixes heaters by poking at them a bit. The man who steals shirts. The charming, charming man that caught Curt Mega’s attention and never let it go. Now Curt could pinpoint that something he was wondering all the way at. The very beginning. 

It was, and always had been, love. 

**Author's Note:**

> So! That was that! I came up with that idea on a whim and had intended to write it in about a night, maybe a weekend. 
> 
> This work took over a month to write. 
> 
> Yep. But! Ever since I saw this musical, I’ve been in love with the relationship between these sad gays and knew I had to do something with them. I also ran out of fics, so I wrote my own. 
> 
> Please support! It would mean the world to me if you did. Kudos are appreciated, but comments are adored. Give your opinion! Also, would you be interested in a part 2? I had a lot more ideas to work with here, and the story wasn’t even supposed to end here (I simply got impatient,) so there’s more I could do with it. Please say if you would be interested in that. I’d love to do it. Thank you so much for reading, but it’s 1:15 am and I should probably sleep. Love y’all 💕


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